


Death's Kiss

by Helkavana



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Angst, Gen, Good Boah, Good Honor, Hate Kiss, M/M, Mostly just retelling, Not big gay but little gay at the end, Penetrative action (by the knives), Retelling of the game events, Spit Exchange, Spoilers, Stabbing, spoilers for the whole game, with a twist at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 13:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18032555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helkavana/pseuds/Helkavana
Summary: Arthur ain't going down without a fight





	Death's Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Boah, there's some slight stabbing, slicing and such. Nothing new, if you don't want to be spoiled, turn away.  
> Now this fic ain't really a shippy fic, it's more like, 'hah, I hate you, here's a disease' kind of thing. Like, it's not shippy, there's not anything established, but like there's a teeny tiny kiss, or more like spit exchange.
> 
> Good Honor/Get The Cash ; ending

”Dutch,” his mentor’s name left his mouth, sorrow and betrayal accompanied by the rough sound of his voice.

”Micah,” the hatred oozed from his mouth, the name tasting foul on his tongue. The rat.

”Come and get me you bastards.” 

And then.

Arthur ran. His legs carrying his tired and sick body, lungs feeling like they would collapse. He ran towards where their makeshift ex-camp would be. Towards the money and the rat. There would be no turning back. _Not to mention that he even didn’t have a choice with the sickness plaguing him._

”Dutch!” 

Getting the money was an easy enough decision. Arthur knew that John would be capable of evading the Pinkertons by himself and get to safety, and more importantly, he knew that it was a likely chance that the rat – Micah – would be there hounding the money. The chances of encountering him and Dutch increasing with each yell of his former companions.

He moved with heavy feet as the camp came in sight as well as the flames that engulfed it, dancing in a red angry haze, singing their destruction and fall. The cave's mouth looked menacing, ghostly, the shadows dancing around the opening’s edge. Like the gates of hell, welcoming any greedy bastards that wanted to enter inside the cave. 

He wouldn’t have to run no longer, he was at the end of his destination.

The trek through the short distance was agonizing. His chest constricting with breathlessness every step he took, running out of breath while his throat felt clogged with sickness. But no matter, he would push along until he could no more.

Arthur stepped his way inside the cave, walked briskly and with loud steps to the place where Abigail had told him the money was held. The chest was easily found and once he approached it he proceeded to unlock it with Dutch’s key, which Abigail had stolen graciously.

Pushing the lid open revealed a sack full of Dutch’s hidden stash. The sack was bulky and brimming with cash bills and coins. Getting the hands on it, he gripper the sack and hoisted it on his shoulder. Done with that, he began walking his way back out of the cave. 

His gut was full of dread that was telling him that he wouldn’t get very far.

Exiting the cave he felt a weight slam against his back, pushing him roughly to the ground with the money bag falling from his grasp. His hands came to catch his fall and to quickly push himself upward, getting as far as on his hands and knees, but rough hands were pushing on his back to push him to the ground. That’s when he feels a stabbing pain in his side. 

The pain had him falling back to the ground sideways yelling in agony as the knife tried to push deeper, digging in cruelly to his flesh.

He swung his hand out and slapped his assailant, hitting him squarely in the face. That made the assailant relent and fall on their ass. He followed them and fell to the ground, the swing and the pain on his side not letting him get on his feet as quickly as he would have liked.

”Cannot stay away, huh…” The foul voice spoke, a harsh and a familiar voice pushing through the fog of pain in his mind. 

Bearing the blinding pain on his side, he lifted himself agonizingly off the ground with a pained grimace. Hand hovering above the knife that had dug its place in his flesh. He stood up. 

”…Black Lung.”

Arthur’s face twisted to an angrier grimace. He stared at the rat that stood in front him; it was spewing its toxic nonsense from its mouth as always. Hunched over with a taunting face as the fire formed sinister shadows on its face.

”You should have left with your friend, Marston. Let the money be…” 

The knife stabbing away at his attention, his only response was a pained, ”Sure…”

The palm of his hand connected to the knife’s handle. Fingers wrapping around it in a strong grip. He pulled. Groaning, his teeth gritting together as the knife pulled free of him, squelching a nauseating noise.

The foreign pointy object now removed, he pointed it at Micah. The blood on it glimmering with the light that the fires around them provided.

Micah pulled his own knife out of its holder – He had stabbed Arthur with Arthur’s _own_ knife, that _rat_ – pointing a knife at him as well, getting ready into a fighting stance. 

Both approached the other slowly, taking small careful steps. Watching the other’s movements. Watching, observing. Alternating glances between the face, body and knife. Waiting for an opening. Waiting for the other to _slip._

~~Forgive me if I slip and accidentally stab you in the face.~~

Neither knew who lunged first, who gave, it was all a fast blur. Their dangerous little dance began. Each handing out slices to the other one’s body with each swing. Exchanging hits and witty remarks. Hoping for the other one’s fall. 

A jab at him, ”Still got some fight in you, huh?” 

Arthur scoffed, ”It’s easy when I am fighting a _coward,_ ” the knife satisfyingly hitting the other’s flesh.

Being thrown down to the ground ”You weak fool. I’ve waited a long time to kill you.” 

Lifting himself up off the ground. ”Oh I know, you goddamn snake,” he spits out. 

”Snake?” Micah chuckles humorlessly, ”Okay… and you’re a vulture. Robbing Dutch after _all_ he is done for you,” the remark is accentuated with a slice at Arthur. 

It continues for a while. Trying to taunt the other into loosing their cool. Swinging at each other, each looking for the final hit, the _kill_. 

Still, it was apparent how very weak he was. He was slower, less reactive. The sickness in his lungs had affected him so much. It was probably what was keeping him from putting the rat six feet underground. A bitter feeling washed over him amidst the battle. He had come at peace with his death, but within a millisecond, he truly wished that his sickness would spread to Micah. 

Well no need to dwell on it, he pushed the bitter feeling away in the favor of focusing on stabbing at the traitor whose breathing had quickened during their battle. Same way was for Arthur, his breaths leaving him in quick bursts, heart pumping blood wildly through his veins. He was becoming tired as the fight grew on. His battered sick body was only functioning with the adrenaline running through him.

It wasn’t until Arthur got a lucky swing at the other one's head that a turning point happened. 

Few pained yells left Micah’s mouth as he hunched into himself, holding his left eye in pain. He held himself in that position until his hand left his eye as he peered down at the blood that was smeared on his hand. Underneath the hand had revealed a vertical line across his eye. 

Groaning with a mix of pain and anger, Micah’s scratchy voice spoke out. ”Oh you got me good, Black lung” Micah’s eye fixed upon him, glinting with a threat that promised him a world of pain. He had no time to react at all as Micah launched at him, yelling, ”Let’s end this!” 

Arthur was tackled to the ground, his back hitting the ground made him groan and his lungs to croak. The snake slithered on top of him. Planting himself on top of his lap. Knees firmly planted at his hips side.

He had even less time to react as he saw the glint of the knife move over Micah’s head. Arthur’s hands swiftly lifted up to grip Micah’s hands to combat the knife, trying to stop its firm determination to set itself in his chest. Micah kept trying to turn the knife each way to rid of his grip, but he kept turning with him, struggling to escape and to not get a knife in the chest.

His mind flew over the options of escape in a few seconds, when finally, his mind firmly set itself on a plan, a haste, desperate plan. It would take 2 birds with 1 stone if successful, though he would have to be quick so Micah wouldn’t have time to react. He didn’t have much time nor strength to keep this up, so with nothing else, he put the plan in motion.

”You’re going to die…” the icy words left Micah’s mouth. Breathless.

”No doubt…” 

With strength he didn’t know he had left, he swiftly lifted Micah’s knife with his left hand. Pulling it away from near his chest and head. That freed his right hand which he quickly used to aggressively pull Micah’s face towards him. 

Jerking his head up, he smashed his open lips onto Micah’s. The dull pain of teeth hitting teeth didn’t register through his brain as his tongue darted through the shocked and rough lips, slipping into the cavern of his mouth. Spreading saliva against the others stock still tongue while he had the opportunity to do so.

Micah let out a choked sound between a gasp and a moan. Before Arthur knew it, teeth were clamping down on his tongue, which in turn, made him yelp in pain before withdrawing with a wounded and bleeding tongue. His fist raised on reflex to punch Micah in the face to rid him off of him.

Arthur turned over unto his stomach and finally onto his non-hurting left side. He nursed his mangled tongue with one hand and with the other he pressed onto the aching hole in his side.

Micah was on his hands and knees, spitting onto the ground, mix of saliva and Arthur’s blood spat onto the ground. After sufficiently cleaning the taste of death from his mouth, Micah lifted himself up off the ground. The rat was gripping his eye as he turns with fury and disgust towards him. 

Before he could charge towards Arthur, Dutch decides to finally to arrive at the scene. Steps careful, posture exuding hurt and despair.

”Stop this,” his voice was firm as he approached the two. Then it softened in pain, his face forming a sad frown ”Just, stop this. Both of you fools.”

Micah lets out a frustrated growl, turning to stare at Dutch while lifting his hand to point his blade towards Arthur. Arthur could only writhe on the ground in pain as Micah’s angry voice filled the air with the crackling fire.

”He is turned, Dutch,” his voice roughens, ”I told you, he’s turned. He came to _rob_ you.”

”No,” they both turn their attention to Arthur, ”I didn’t turn, Micah.” he rasps out, words coming out quite not right. Every part of his being was screaming in pain. Talking hurt with his tongue all bloody, not to even mention all of the injuries he has sustained. 

Arthur nods his head towards Micah, ”You did.” He can see the hate shine in Micah’s gaze, trying to skin him alive. He takes a shaky breath.

”Tell Dutch what you told to Agent Milton,” His voice manages to sound smug under the lisp and the pain.

”You shut your mouth,” Micah hisses sharply and points his knife more furiously at him. ”You’re talking nonsense!”

”You’re the rat, Micah.” He whispers roughly. ”Not Molly, Dutch.” He lifts one of his hand to point at Micah, ”Him.” He points more furiously, anger and hate apparent in his voice, ”Him!” 

The gesture taking energy out of him, he collapses more heavily onto the ground, his hands coming to support his weight as his lower body drags him down.

”You’re dying. Black Lung,” Micah points back at him, looking triumphant. Arthur chuckles dryly.

”You’re too,” he drawls, the corners of his mouth lifting up into a humorless smirk, staring sharply at Micah.

Micah’s face falls.

After that, saying the things he had wanted to say, he just sits back in pain and lets the voices fall over him. Micah urgently tries to convince Dutch to come with him, to escape with the money. ”It’s nonsense, of course it is!” 

The knife fight with Micah had taken all of the energy he had left. He knew he didn’t have much time. He laid on his stomach, turned towards his ex-mentor and the rat. Arthur just stared, stared as Dutch takes hesitant steps back. Stared as he finally turns away from the camp and walks away from all of this. From this _mess_.

Arthur felt a weird sense of content. He had gotten John and his family out and he had helped people he could along the way. He had come at peace with himself and his death. Dutch, even though he betrayed them all for that rat, had now walked away from Micah and the money. And Micah…

_Heh._

He had given a good fight against him, giving him a hell of a time even when he was dying of a sickness. Probably even giving him an ugly scar to his left eye. He even had the satisfaction of knowing the rat was going to die by him, by his sickness.

His eyes were glued to the hunched form of Micah as the rat stared towards where Dutch had left him. Stared at him when Micah finally turns to him, disgusted and mad.

The rat considers him with a murderous eye as he advances towards him fairly quickly, knife swinging in his hand rigidly at his side. From the way he was walking and glaring at him, he had a guess that Micah wanted to end him before the sickness and wounds did. It is not long after that, that the rat is standing next to him looking down at him. 

Arthur groans in pain as a boot connects against his shoulder, pushing him firmly to the ground. He can feel the other’s weight shift as the he leans over him, head hovering above his head. His head is close enough to hear the breathless exhales and inhales that the other emits from his mouth. The tip of the knife lightly presses against his back, enough to feel but not enough to hurt.

”This is my goodnight kiss…” his voice venomously spills. He feels the tip of the knife lifts off of his back, ”… _darling_ ,” he adds sardonically as if an afterthought. 

Then there is hot searing pain as the knife plunges deep into his back, digging cruelly into muscle. His mouth opens in a silent scream, all breath stolen from his lungs, only a breathless croak leaves him. He doesn’t register as his own body tenses, untenses and finally relaxes. He can only see as the world darkens more and more around the edges, until he is drawing his final breath. 

The knife is left in its place as Micah takes the money sack and leaves the corpse as the sunlight starts to pour in.

-

A relentless cough haunts Micah the months after.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok yeet, this is more of a practice fic, hopefully. I really would want to continue writing Micah/Arthur hate relationship fics, because I hate Micah, but like 'I wanna screw that smirk off your face' kind of hate. The only problem with writing more fics is that I am pretty busy with drawing, school and editing videos so I don't know if I can.
> 
> But to other things that I would like discuss. I know that contracting TB and having it activate is super-very rare, and that Arthur was very unlucky with circumstance and such to get it and having it activate. So, it would be very very very unlucky for Micah to get TB right? A very small percentage of chance of that happening, but in my fic, the possibility of contracting it and having symptoms is a 100% chance for Micah. : )  
> The Miracle of being a writer.


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